We’ve affixed the term “open house” to tonight’s celebration. I helped generate that label, but I have to ask the question, could there be a more generic term than “Open House?” Realtors use it when showing off a house for sale; private elementary and high schools use it when trying to drum up student enrollment; and now here we are as a synagogue using it, welcoming new and prospective members. Couldn’t we have found something a little more original, a little more distinctive?
And yet, upon closer examination, the term Open House is actually quite… Jewish.
One of the paradigmatic stories of Jewish values is the one that takes place in Parashat Vaye’ra, the Torah portion known as Vayera, Chapter 18 of the book of Bereshit, Genesis. “וַיֵּרָ֤א אֵלָיו֙ יְהֹוָ֔ה” the Torah portion begins: Adonai, the Holy One, appeared—vayera/appeared—to Abraham בְּאֵלֹנֵ֖י מַמְרֵ֑א, under a tree at the site of Mamre, וְה֛וּא יֹשֵׁ֥ב פֶּֽתַח־הָאֹ֖הֶל כְּחֹ֥ם הַיּֽוֹם, and Abraham was sitting at פֶּֽתַח־הָאֹ֖הֶל at the opening of his tent as the day grew hot.
Petach Ha’oel. At the opening of his tent—this paradigmatic figure, whom we revere as a forefather, had an open tent, an open home, open to the world, and the travelers around him.
He wasn’t alone in our storied tradition exhibiting this feature. One of the first teachings in pirkei avot, the famous collection of ethical advice and sagely teachings of the ancient rabbis is by יוֹסֵי בֶן יוֹחָנָן אִישׁ יְרוּשָׁלַיִם, Yosi son of Yochanan, a man of Jerusalmwhen who teaches יְהִי בֵיתְךָ פָתוּחַ לִרְוָחָה “Let thy house be wide open.” “You shall have an open house,” it teaches in Pirkei Avot.
And here we are.
Because this is Judaism, this ancient teaching can’t be left to stand on its own—layers and layers of interpretation have been embedded with it. יְהִי בֵיתְךָ פָתוּחַ לִרְוָחָה, The house should be wide open— כיצד “In what sense?”the ancient rabbi, Rabi Natan (different rabbi Natan) asks?
“In the sense that” he continues, “a person’s house should be open to all sides: the south, the east, the west, and the north.”
“This is like Job,” he continues, who, tradition teaches, like Abraham, was also a paragon of hospitality. “Job,” he says, “made four doors to his house So that those in need would not have to trouble themselves to go around the whole house. Someone who came in from the north would enter from that direction, and someone who came in from the south would enter from that direction, and so with every direction. That is why Job made four doors to his house.”
We’ve got to make it easy for people to feel at home, Jewish tradition teaches. An Open House, this seemingly generic construct, is core to Jewish identity and tradition.
Facilitating welcome and connection and hospitality are core to the Jewish, and the synagogue, experience. And so we’re having an Open House. Welcome to the Society Hill Synagogue Open House 5782, soon to be 5783. Here we are.
But I’m going to let you in on a little secret. It’s always an Open House at SHS. And at most synagogues, I imagine. You don’t need to call ahead if you’re coming to a service, although sure, it doesn’t hurt. You don’t need to wait for an open house to bring a guest or to try us out, although yes, we’ve gone to some extra lengths this week, advertising it and everything. No really, every week is an open house at SHS and most synagogues. You just come. You just come and be present to the spiritual experience that seems to inherently happen when open-hearted, open-minded, open-spirited people come together to break bread, to sing, to learn, to be. That’s hachnasat orchim, the Jewish, and really universal, value, of being welcoming to guests, to our fellow, to fellow human beings in our presence.
In fact, welcoming guests, welcoming those in our our presence, is considered such a prime Jewish value that the Talmud teaches that גְּדוֹלָה הַכְנָסַת אוֹרְחִין מֵהַקְבָּלַת פְּנֵי שְׁכִינָה “Greater is hospitality towards guests than receiving the shechinah, receiving the Divine Presence.”
Greater is hospitality towards guests than receiving the shechinah. What could that possibly mean? Where does that come from, what implications does that have?
Returning to our story of Abraham at his petach haoehel, at the opening of his tent, when Adonai appeared to him as the day turned hot, the story continues,
וַיִּשָּׂ֤א עֵינָיו֙ וַיַּ֔רְא “Abraham lifted his eyes, and he looked, and behold, three figures were standing near him. It goes on: וַיַּ֗רְא “When he saw this,” it continues, “Abraham ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them and, bowing to the ground, he said,” and here’s we get the interpretation about hospitality towards guests being more important that receiving the divine: אֲדֹנָ֗י אִם־נָ֨א מָצָ֤אתִי חֵן֙ בְּעֵינֶ֔יךָ אַל־נָ֥א תַעֲבֹ֖ר מֵעַ֥ל עַבְדֶּֽךָ׃
Typically this is translated as him saying something like “Adonai,” which yes can mean God, but can also simply mean, and the way its spelled here suggests, “my lord,” the equivalent of sir, honored guest, my liege; and the verse is traditionally understood to mean, “adonai, my lord, leader among you three gentleman, if it please you, do not go on past me, your servant. Let me feed and host you.” That’s the traditional translation, and that is ultimately what Abraham does; he feeds his guests, with his wife Sarah, and bathes their feet, after a long hot desert trek.
But the talmud reads this verse not as Adonai — my lord, sir, honored guests, but Adonai — God, the Holy One, the shechinah, אַל־נָ֥א תַעֲבֹ֖ר מֵעַ֥ל עַבְדֶּֽךָ “don’t go any further, don’t leave me,” even though I have to run and take care of these guests before I can turn to you.” Under the Talmudic reading, Abraham is telling God, “don’t go anywhere; some guests have just arrived and I’ve got to make them feel at home. They might be lost, lost souls, and I’ve got to comfort them, tend to them.” Abraham puts making people feel welcome before God, and not only does the Talmud not critique this, which it wasn’t shy about doing; the Talmud endorses it.
Further, the talmud teaches that hachanasat orchim, providing an experience of welcome to our fellow, is on the short list of mitzvot, the sacred callings of Judaism, through which אָדָם אוֹכֵל פֵּירוֹתֵיהֶן בָּעוֹלָם הַזֶּה, a person experiences the fruits of the action in this world, וְהַקֶּרֶן קַיֶּימֶת לוֹ לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא, and the principal, the core benefit of the action, remains in the world to come. We’ll explore more about what is meant by “the world to come” on erev Yom Kippur, the eve of Yom Kippur, but suffice it to say, providing hospitality, being welcoming to those in our presence, is on the short list of mitzvot the experience of which is so rich, the service of which is so deep, so profound that its effects are something that reverberate not only in this world but in the world to come. It is a mitzvah; we are called upon to do this.
So how do we do it; how do we practice hachnashat orchim, providing welcome, what does it look like?
I think most of us intuitively know what it means to make some feel welcome, but to illustrate, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin offers the example in the form of Rabbi Akiva Eger—lotta rabbis in these stories—Rabbi Akiva Eger, who was hosting a fancy holiday meal, when a guest tipped over his wine cup and stained his beautiful tablecloth.
So what do you think he did?
Well, within seconds, Rabbi Eger nudged the table himself, thereby toppling his own cup as well, and said, “Hmm. Strange. The table must be somewhat unbalanced.”
Imagine the mini roller coaster of emotion that guest must have gone on in those few seconds—from being, I don’t know, horrified, to the experience of relief. To the experience of not only having the host excuse their mistake, but suggesting it wasn’t even their mistake in the first place. Unburdening them.
This is the experience we try to facilitate when we’re hosting: Unburdening our guests. Physically, emotionally, socially, spiritually. Making them feel at home and at ease.
And who is it we try to show that level of welcome to? Well, in a word, everyone.
The paradigmatic Jewish statement of welcome comes near the beginning of the Passover seder. כָּל דִכְפִין יֵיתֵי וְיֵיכֹל, Let anyone who is hungry come and eat, כָּל דִצְרִיךְ יֵיתֵי וְיִפְסַח, Let anyone who is in need come and celebrate (Pesach).
Let anyone who is hungry come and eat. This certainly includes those who are literally, physically hungry. If we’re not satisfying that condition, welcoming those who are hungry on that most basic level, then we’re not fulfilling this mitzvah. In a synagogue like this, let all who who are hungry come and eat.
But if we’re only satiating people physically, the teaching suggests, only attuned to their physical needs, not to the heart or the spirit; we may not be fulfilling the mitzvah either.
It doesn’t necessarily take much, but Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik teaches that kol ditzrikh, all those who are in need, refers, in addition to those who are hungry, to those who are… lonely.
And we all have lonely parts of ourselves. We all of have parts of ourselves looking to connect, to feel seen, to feel heard, to be loved, and to love in return. A significant reason that we come to synagogue, that we come to an open house, is to feel that sense of connection: to one another, to a bigger sense of community, to the Divine. It is a mitzvah, we are called, especially when we are in a space that is something of our home territory, to welcome and facilitate that sense of connection for others.
May we perform that mitzvah, that sacred act, here at SHS, and may you all feel welcome, now and always. Shabbat Shalom.
